


Safety Plug

by Aviantei



Series: Disconnected Cables [3]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Can you call this a proposal?, Disconnected Cables Part Three, F/M, Ichihime is honestly in the background, Marriage, One Shot, Post canon, Romance and Fluff, So is Rukia/Renji, Twelve Shots of Summer, Twelve Shots of Summer: Gotta Write ‘Em All
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 07:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviantei/pseuds/Aviantei
Summary: [One Shot; Sequel to "Intertwining Wires"] Settling down with someone wasn't part of my plans, but I don't regret that I did. Considering just how far it would go, on the other hand, turned out to be a little out of my league. How do you tell someone so far out of conventionality that you want to stay by their side? [MizuiroxOC] [Twelve Shots of Summer: Gotta Write 'Em All!]
Relationships: Kojima Mizuiro/Original Character(s), Kurosaki Ichigo/Inoue Orihime
Series: Disconnected Cables [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566712
Kudos: 2
Collections: Twelve Shots of Summer





	Safety Plug

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot was originally posted on fanfiction.net on June 9, 2019. It was one of my entries for the [Twelve Shots of Summer] challenge, in which I went ahead and tried to write pieces for the prompts I hadn't gotten to yet. This piece was for the year one, week two prompt, "I couldn't get you a ring but..." Essentially I wanted to continue the "Disconnected Cables" timeline, and this worked out well for it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Safety Plug**

By: Aviantei

[Twelve Shots of Summer: Gotta Write ‘Em All 1-2 A]

A _Bleach_ One Shot

* * *

_open signal_

_communication: RED_

* * *

Unlike before, I don’t have any convenient excuses for why I’m using this line. Over these past few years, I’ve learned that it’s okay to just want to talk sometimes—and that’s just what’s happening now. I want to talk about the things I’ve experienced and the things I’ve learned. It just so happens that this is the place to do it.

If I had a more eloquent excuse for what I’m doing, I’d give it to you. But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe I’m not going to become a completely honest person; I think that’s beyond me. But I’m here, and I’m speaking, and I don’t have to remind myself of what’s the truth anymore and what’s a lie.

Because, regardless of the distinction, that cable stays connected. The one between me and her—between Kojima Mizuiro and Mizushima Tomomi. The cable I worked harder to keep connected than any other. And while Tomomi would listen to me go on forever, sometimes it’s nice to reflect to someone else, and that’s just what I’m doing.

I’m looking forward to it.

* * *

I turn my key and pull open the mailbox, only to find the insides bare. Tomomi must’ve gotten home before me and took it all upstairs already. I adjust my backpack on my shoulder, shut the mailbox back up, and shove my keys in my pocket. The warmth of the heating is a welcome sensation from the Aomori winter outside, and Tomomi keeps things even cozier upstairs. I step around another tenant coming to check their mail and make the quick climb to my apartment.

Our apartment.

I unlock the front door and slip off my shoes in the entryway. The place isn’t too big, but it’s got plenty of space for the both of us. The walls are a plain tan, but Tomomi more than made up for that by going wild with an autumn themed décor. Everything from the couch to the pictures on the walls to the dishware in the kitchen is a lush mix of reds and oranges and browns and yellows.

“Welcome back, Mizuiro,” Tomomi calls from the kitchen before I can even consider announcing my presence. I finish shedding my winter layers and toss my backpack on the couch while heading her way. When I round the corner, Tomomi’s standing over the coffee pot, dumping fresh grinds in the filter. She hasn’t changed out of her work clothes, the tight turtleneck outlining her curves, but her hair falls down her back in waves, the dark color broken apart by the occasional neon blue streak. “Did you study hard today?”

“Yup. Midterms are coming up and all that.” Once Tomomi’s finished filling the coffee maker with fresh water and freed up her hands, I slip an arm around her waist. “And how did your class go today, Sensei?”

Tomomi snorts, and her hair tickles my skin. Still chilled from the outside, I suck up as much of her warmth as she can. “You always worry about the silliest things.” She always talks like casual conversation’s such a bother, but she’ll indulge me anyways. “It can be hard to get people to focus when it’s the end of the week, but we did well enough I think. We’ll find out when they have their quiz Monday.” She shrugs, at last turning into my hug. “It’s too cold to go out tonight. Let’s just stay in.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Even after three years in Aomori, the winter kills me every time. I miss Karakura, or at least its weather. Crappy weather’s good enough of an excuse as any for cuddles. When Tomomi decides to acknowledge my attempts sneaking in a kiss, she tips her head down to meet mine.

They say that being in a relationship changes a lot of things. Tomomi seems to treat that the same way she treats all sorts of conventions: ignoring it. Sure, we live together, and I know I’ve changed from how I was in high school, but Tomomi and I still eat together and hang around and even just enjoy our own space. If we’re busy, it’s not uncommon for us to focus on my classwork or her job and come back together when things clear up. It’s not that different of a setup from that summer when we were practical strangers and slept around with each other.

“Oh right,” Tomomi says as I catch a breath between kisses. The aroma of her coffee has seeped through the room like an incense. Without any hesitation, Tomomi steps back, leaving me without her warmth. She crosses to the counter beside the fridge and picks up a letter in her thin fingers. “This showed up today. Thought you’d wanna know.”

I straighten out my sweater and take the envelope. It’s already open along the top, and mine and Tomomi’s names are written on the front in delicate handwriting. It’s too small and square to be a traditional letter, and when I pull out the insides, it’s a card—embossed white paper with a handwritten invitation inside.

The event is Kurosaki’s wedding, the date set for spring.

It’s not any sort of surprise; Kurosaki and Inoue announced their engagement a few months ago. It’s not even a surprise that they addressed it to both me and Tomomi; Keigo hasn’t been able to keep his mouth shut since she made me promise to be honest about it. The sequence of events is logical, but something inside me feels shaken, knocked the slightest bit out of place.

“Since they’re doing it over a weekend, we won’t have much trouble getting you out of class,” Tomomi says. The coffee pot goes off, and she tends to her nectar. “Want some?”

Once she starts pouring a cup, the smell gets to me, and I nod. Tomomi hums to herself as she preps our mugs with their respective cream and sugar ratios (mine looking more like coffee milk, Tomomi’s with enough sugar that even an elementary schooler could stomach it) but I’m stuck staring at the invitation. There’s just so little reason to be shocked, considering how long Kurosaki and Inoue have been together. It would be much more surprising if Keigo called me to announce he’s managed to snag a girlfriend.

And yet I can’t shake the feeling of unease.

Steaming mugs in both hands, Tomomi tilts her head at me, shuffling the strands of blue further into their dark counterparts. “No pigtails tonight?” she asks. Despite the insinuation, she manages to keep everything but a mild curiosity from her tone. Even after two years with her and everything else I’ve gotten up to, it still sends a wave of heat up my neck that I try to blame on my sweater.

“Now, let’s not make any hasty decisions.” I close the invitation, taking unnecessary care with cardstock. I don’t even know what I’m in the mood for tonight, and Tomomi never makes plans. Spontaneous encounters work best for us. I pluck up a pen from the counter and head to the fridge, flipping the pages of the calendar towards June. “I’m just trying to figure out how this will affect my classes, that’s all.”

“Mm.” Tomomi makes her way towards the living room. “Thinking about the future like that is exhausting. You don’t wanna get too ahead of yourself.”

“It’s worked for me so far.” It’s how I ended up coming to Nakagawa and Aomori—and Tomomi—after all. Tomomi makes an unconvinced sound, her brain already switched into relaxation mode. In the morning, we’ll pick ourselves up from whatever we may get into and think about reality again, my classes, her teaching. But until then, it’s just me and her, and I guess I shouldn’t take my free time for granted.

I doublecheck the date for the wedding one more time before I realize Tomomi’s already written it down for me. I let the calendar pages rustle back to January and tuck the invitation back into its embossed envelope before returning it to the stack of mail on the counter.

* * *

I used to attend the student coffee house on campus because my friends went, and I needed a breather in the middle of the week. In the beginning, it was also how I managed to see Tomomi for the first time in months. But now she’s graduated, no longer a student, so it’s just me that wanders my way into the open dining hall space. There’s extra strings of Christmas lights along the ceiling, and peaceful music seeps in through the speakers, just louder than the chatter of gathered students, mixed in with the aromas of hot chocolate and coffee.

“Kojima!” a voice calls, and I look up to see Nakamura flailing his arm to wave me over to one of the high tables close to the center of the room. Tsukuda raises his own palm in a much more restrained gesture. As I draw closer, my former dormmate, Katou, has made a surprising public appearance, though he is slumped over the table.

“What’s the point of coming all the way out here?” Katou asks, as if his room isn’t just in the next building over. “You can brew coffee in the dorms.”

Tsukuda snorts a bit, shoving Katou in the shoulder. “Yeah, but it’s free. Plus, it’s a good excuse to hang out. Would you even bother getting social interaction if we didn’t invite you?”

Katou still looks pouty, but he holds back the retort I just know is swirling in his mind. I drop my backpack into the empty seat they left for me and chuckle. “It’s only for a couple of hours, Katou. I think you’ll live.”

After I wander off to get my own coffee, we settle down into small talk. Even though I’m the only one who’s moved off campus so far, I still share a few electives and mealtimes with the others. But it’s nice to have a designated time where we can just all sit down and shoot the breeze. Nakamura proposes our next Saturday hangout, and Tsukuda smiles whenever Katou bothers to join the conversation. Other students come and go around us, shifting the tones of conversation in subtle waves, but I drink more than my fair share of coffee and pass topics around, just enjoying the company of friends.

“Do you guys ever think about what getting married is like?” I ask when the next lull in conversation comes around. We’ve all pretty much abused our free refill privileges, and our overused mugs form a huddle in the center of the table. Despite the later hour, there’s only a few empty tables in the revamped dining hall. There’s a short pause from the table as my friends all take a moment to contemplate what I just said.

“Hey now,” Nakamura says with a scowl that would fit a drunken businessman, “is that supposed to be some sort of crack because I’m the only one of us that’s still single.” Katou doesn’t bother to hide either his grin or snicker, though Tsukuda tries to hush him. I put on my most pleasant smile, and Nakamura rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you and Mizushima are thinking about tying the knot. You can’t even afford to get her a nice ring.”

This time, it’s Tsukuda who laughs. “Sorry for saying so, but I don’t think Mizushima-san even thinks about stuff like that.” I don’t have a protest to that, nor do I need one. Tomomi’s biggest concern after showing me the invitation was seeing which of us could fold more origami cranes in a race (it was her, no contest). It’s impossible to figure out which direction her mind will go in, and I’m the one dating her. Tsukuda props his elbows on the table with a smile. “Though if you did want to get married, I’d still support you.”

Not following the beat of the background music, I tap my fingers along the edge of the table. “No, no, nothing like that.” I think Tomomi might laugh in my face if I tried. “I just have some friends from high school that are getting married soon, so I guess it’s been on my mind? It just…seems like a big step is all.”

“Huh. High school means they’re still in university, right?” Nakamura asks. I nod. They both decided to study near Karakura, but neither of them has mentioned anything about changing their plans, even with the engagement. “Scary stuff. Can you imagine committing that much to another person while still worrying about classes and junk?”

“Says the guy who can’t commit to anything,” Katou says.

“Okay, _listen—_ ”

“Well,” Tsukuda says, clapping his hands together, “different people have different approaches to life, after all. If your friends are happy together, Kojima, then I’m sure they’ve made the right choice for them.” It’s a lot of faith for someone who’s never met Kurosaki and Inoue, but I think Tsukuda’s right. They didn’t just decide to get married on a whim. Tsukuda smiles at Katou a bit. “Maybe someday, but that’s a different stage of life altogether.”

Nakamura groans, but I take the sentiment to heart. Because no matter what we feel ready for, there’s always a stage in front of us to take on. And the one Tomomi and I are looking at does just fine.

* * *

It’s been almost a decade since I came up with my theory, but I still believe that everyone’s connected by wires. Maybe not the same cables in an ICU—that image seems too desperate now. But there’s still something that ties one person to another, transmits the information that makes up relationships. The wires can get tangled and disconnect sometimes, but they still leave evidence that a connection was still there.

I’m rather impressed that I’ve managed to keep my own wires so organized over the past few years. I used to be caught in a mess of superficial connections—all the girls and women I slept with so that I’d have a place to stay that wasn’t my own equally superficial home. Some of them were reoccurring, a wire I could follow when things didn’t work out. Others were sporadic, a connection that would reestablish itself from the other side when it was convenient. And then there were plenty that hooked together once and then never again, a dead cable abandoned on the floor.

Not that all my relationships were like that. Keigo was steadfast, no matter what happened. The rest of my friendships in Karakura, though sometimes I didn’t believe they were genuine, held on even after I disconnected myself from the rest. And then there are the fresh connections, the wires I offered to Nakamura, Tsukuda, and Katou—as well as my improved relationship with my mother, who for so long was so very far away.

And that doesn’t say anything of the connection I made with Tomomi.

No matter how it started, our wires have the strongest relationship I’ve ever accepted or even strived to make. We each have a cable, one that reaches out to the other party. They intertwine, and she and I are tied together, not just in one place, but two. And to me, that’s stronger than anything else I could’ve imagined.

So, what would the cables look like if they were reinforced further—

* * *

Winter blurs into spring faster than I anticipated, and my third year of university concludes. Tomomi bemoans the loss of a convenient excuse to drape herself all over me, but I remain satisfied as she switches out the sweaters and skirts for shorts and tank tops that show off the curve of her shoulders.

Tomomi moves on with her first class of students to their second year of high school, and I resign myself to the fact that this is year where I’ll face the first battering ram of high-difficulty exams.

“Hm, we’ll be heading to Karakura in a few weeks, right?” Tomomi asks near the end of April. Hair still braided up in teacher mode, she’s organizing her lesson plans on the dining room table, while I get into a fight with my latest dosage calculation worksheet. Though Tomomi’s tutoring has helped, there are still times where all the numbers feel like a mess. Tomomi props her elbows on the table, the light reflecting off her glasses as she stares up at the ceiling. “Hm, we don’t really have matching formal outfits. Should we go shopping?”

I’ve been trying to resist the urge to spin my pencil, but it spills out of my fingers, clattering as it tumbles across the table. “You want matching outfits?” It’s such a normal couple thing that I can’t believe the words have come out of her mouth. Even though Tomomi’s always been able to see through my facades, I wipe the shock off my face and reach out a hand to feel her forehead. “Did the change of seasons make you feel sick or something?”

Tomomi laughs, ducking her head back. My fingers slip from her soft skin and through her bangs. “We don’t wanna not match the rest of the wedding, right?” She pats one of her braids, the blue vibrant against her winter-pale skin. “I’m fine with standing out and all, but it seems rude to try and upstage the married couple. Are they doing Western or traditional?”

“Traditional.” Inoue waffled over it for a while, but the idea of a kimono won out for her. “And I wouldn’t put it past you to end up sticking out more than you plan to, anyways.”

“Oho?” Tomomi smirks and leans further over the table. She lets her braids tumble down from their twist. While she’s whimsical enough as it is, I’m no match for any of her playful moods. “Would that be because I’m the infamous Kojima Mizuiro’s girlfriend?”

Even though it was inevitable, I never should’ve let her and Keigo get within two-hundred meters of each other—not that I didn’t tell her most of my dirty secrets anyways. I play along, meeting her amused look with one of my own. “Well, if you want to attest to my infamousness, I’m sure we could make arrangements.”

“Oh, I’m sure we could.” When I reach out my hand, Tomomi snatches it before I get even close to touching her shoulder. She smiles, and it’s still inviting, but I can feel the tease waiting behind it. “But you have to be a good medical student and study. And my kiddos are relying on me for their education.” She kisses my knuckles, her tongue flicking out to taste my skin. “Maybe if you finish up your homework tonight, we can have some fun. But I’m not about to distract you while you’re being so serious.”

I don’t bother to conceal my pout as Tomomi releases my fingers—just like she doesn’t bother to budge. She’s right, I know, I should be serious, but it’s frustrating how she’s logical when it’s least convenient for me. I suspect that’s the point.

I heave an overdramatic sigh and pick up by pencil anyways. “I’ll take you on a date over the weekend. We can go shopping and get something nice.” _That we can wear together,_ I think about adding, but don’t want to hear that it was just a joke.

Tomomi nods, already muttering under her breath as she looks over her page of class notes. Not having much other choice, I follow her lead and get back to work.

* * *

It’s several hours’ worth of driving to Karakura town from Aomori. Tomomi and I have taken it before, when we took an emergency trip to see my mother. Now, with the journey pre-planned and much less dire straits, we gather up our bags and take the trains. The Japan landscape whips by as the evening melts into night. The farther south we go, the temperature creeps upwards, and even though it’s late when we arrive, the air outside the train station is sweltering in comparison to back home.

It doesn’t even bother me that I think of Aomori and Nakagawa as home—because Karakura is still partway my home, too. I’m sure it feels similar for Tomomi, who grew up in the north but spent her summers here. Home is a little more than just where you live.

“Whoo, it’s still this hot at night and it’s not even August yet.” Tomomi stretches outside the station, reaching up for the sky. She’s tucked her hail into pigtails for nostalgia’s sake, and they flutter with her movements. “Summer’s gonna be a scorcher. Glad I don’t have to pay that electricity bill.”

“I’m sure it’ll be plenty warm enough to satisfy you back home.” Tomomi snickers to herself as I scan over the streets, searching for a taxi. This part of Karakura’s a bit busier than where Tomomi’s family and Keigo live, and the buildings are still lit up. It’s no where near as active as some places can be at night, but I’m fine with keeping our trip tame in comparison. Before long, a pair of headlights turn the corner, and I wave the cab over. “Let’s get going. I don’t wanna stay up too late when you know Keigo is just gonna wanna run around all day.”

“Right, right.” Tomomi handles talking to the cabbie while I load our bags into the back. Right before I’m about to open the backseat door for her, Tomomi catches onto my arm and presses herself against my side. “But don’t leave me hanging. Humor me a little?”

I try not to stare at her for too long. I know I should move before the cabbie catches sight of us, but I stop. Because besides the pigtails, Tomomi’s in one of her string-strap tank tops, and her shorts show off just the right amount of leg. And while I’ve been treated to having my fair view of her over the years, part of me still remembers the day we first met, along with all the encounters that follow.

With no concern for practicality, Tomomi wraps her fingers through mine before I can reach for the handle. “Mizuiro,” she says, in that delicate way that emphasizes every damn syllable of my name.

“You’re unfair, Tomomi.” Her response is to stick closer to my side, and her mouth move dangerously close to my neck. The only saving grace is that, despite all the lights, there’s not many people about at this hour. “But Keigo can wait a little if we sleep in, I guess.”

“Lovely.” And Tomomi detaches herself from me like it’s nothing and opens the taxi door, bouncing across the seat. She makes room for me and pats the space beside her with a smile.

And I smile and climb in to my designated spot, because that forwardness is part of what I love about her.

* * *

While Tomomi and I had no shortage of options of where to stay in Karakura—both Keigo and Tomomi’s father offered—we settled on renting a hotel room near the wedding venue in the end. I’d be lying if I said we weren’t thinking about having some alone time when we did it. Even though we share an apartment and have no problem about having sex whenever we want, there’s something dumb and exciting about sleeping together somewhere different.

Tomomi manages to wake up before me the next morning, and I’m roused by the smell of her coffee brewing. It’s just the cheap hotel brew, but anything’s good enough for her. She wanders around the room without getting dressed, her long and loose hair swaying. Sunlight streams in the window, shining against her pale skin amidst the cool décor of the room.

I sit up in bed, letting the blanket fall off my chest. “Good morning, Tomomi.”

She doesn’t even turn back to face me, but I can hear the smile in her voice. “Good morning, Mizuiro.”

It’s not too different of a morning from back in Aomori, just with less space. We’re not even finished getting ready when Keigo’s spamming my phone with messages. While half of them are nonsense, the other half detail out his plans for the weekend. It’s Friday, with the wedding on Sunday. Even with the already hectic schedule, Keigo’s determined that we cram pack every second with activity.

Tomomi sits on the edge of the bed, sipping the last of the coffee from her mug. Her hair still hangs loose, though her hairbands are wrapped around her wrists. It looks like another day of pigtails for me. “Well I don’t see why not,” she says, that amused little smile on her face. “It’s a mini-vacation. No harm in having fun with it.”

* * *

And with that, the entire day flies by in a blur. There’s brunch with Keigo, then seeing Kurosaki and Inoue again. I decide to chip in my part on the wedding preparations, though there isn’t much for me to do with Kurosaki’s sisters running around like crazy. All our old high school friends work their way back home, and it turns into group catchup. While I’ve heard most of the details in passing, it’s nice to hear about it in person, to see the place where that wire connects.

“You should come over for dinner,” Inoue says once the action starts to settle down for the day. She smiles, hands folded together. Though no one would blame her for being exhausted, the enthusiasm has boosted her usual kindness and kept her energized. The more I think about it, the more I realize how exciting it must be to know you’re going to join your life with someone else’s. “I’ve met Mizushima-san before, but we haven’t gotten the chance to talk much. It’d be a great chance.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, stepping away from the table favors I was helping put together. “There’s a lot going on. I don’t wanna tire you out.”

Inoue giggles. “It’s no problem at all. You live so far away, we don’t get many chances to catch up like this. Besides—” She glances across the room, where Tomomi is discussing floral arrangements with Ishida “—you and Mizushima-san have been together a while. She’s going to stick around, right?”

It’s an innocent question—from Inoue, you wouldn’t expect much else—but I end up thinking much more than necessary. Because while Tomomi and I have that connection, reinforced by its intertwining wires, just how long will she stick around? I wouldn’t have a problem with us staying side by side as long as possible. The question just then becomes how long _is_ possible?

From my finnicky history with connection, to Tomomi’s dismissal of anything straight forward: there’s just too many factors that could send the whole thing collapsing at any moment.

But Inoue’s still waiting for an answer, that simple smile on her face. So I match her expression with one of my well-practiced substitutes, and she doesn’t even know the difference. “Well, I’m sure she’ll stick around long enough for dinner at least,” I say. I try to look for Tomomi again, but she’s already flitted across the room. “If you’re sure it’s not a problem, we’ll be glad to come over.”

“Great!” Inoue claps her hands together, grinning wider. The years since high school have only made her more beautiful; Kurosaki lucked out for sure. “I’ll let Ichigo know, then. It’ll be so great to catch up!” Without even waiting for a response, she dashes off to find her husband to be. I’m smiling before I even realize it.

_Well, if that’s settled, then…_

“Tomomi!” I call. My own partner perks up at the sound of her name, then waves at me, her hand almost clipping Ishida in the chin. “It’s gonna be mealtime soon. I’ve made arrangements.”

“Oh yeah?” She drops her swatch of decorative flowers on the table beside her and tosses a few words to Ishida before trotting up to my side. “I was getting hungry. Perfect timing, Mizuiro!” She claps me on the back twice, and then slips her fingers into mine.

Her warmth is enough for me to forget the uncertainty that’s creeping up on me.

* * *

Dinner goes without much of a hitch—Inoue’s still a little ditzy and Tomomi drags the conversation all over the place without much consideration. But everyone else seems to enjoy themselves, the meal’s excellent, and, despite her prodding, Inoue doesn’t ask much about our relationship or where it’s going. Everyone’s too focused on the upcoming wedding anyway.

“But before any of that,” Keigo says Saturday as we finish setting up the reception hall, “tonight is men’s night.” He grins as if he hasn’t been hefting tables and chairs around for the past hour. Getting older hasn’t kept me from staying on the slight side, and I feel winded. “Mizuiro, you’ve been absent from group gatherings for a while. Your attendance is required.”

“Ooh, men’s night,” Tomomi says with a small smirk. Not even bothering to check if everyone else is finished (they are), she leans over the back of a chair. “Sounds wild. You better behave, Mizuiro. I won’t forgive any accidents.”

I chuckle, but my nervousness just makes it sound awkward. “I’m really not that bad with alcohol in me…”

“You are,” Tomomi and Keigo say in annoying and perfect unison. Even their grins match each other. If it weren’t for the fact that Tomomi is far less dramatic than him, I’d be concerned over just what their similarities say about my taste in people around me. Tomomi gives up lounging on the chair, instead poking at my arm. “Should I tell Asano here about the last time you and I had a drink together?”

There are some memories that are best left untouched, even by your best friend. Heat burns up my cheeks in indignation, and Keigo drapes his arm around my shoulder. He and Tomomi have boxed me in. “As much as I’d love to hear about Mizuiro embarrassing himself—”

I mutter, “I didn’t embarrass myself,” but neither of them seems to hear.

“—let me save that for after tonight when I can have some good stories to tell you in return. I’ll be sure to keep him out of trouble for you, too, Mizushima.”

Tomomi snickers. “Ooh, I like that plan.” She catches sight of my pout so moves on to poke at my cheek instead. “Don’t be so grumpy, Mizuiro. You’re gonna have a nice time with your friends. It’ll be a nice break from all that studying and hard work you bury yourself in.”

I groan, and it’s as much for the thought of the classes waiting for me when we get back to Aomori as it is for their teasing. “Yeah, yeah.” Tomomi and Keigo exchange another conspiring glance. “Oh, but are you gonna be okay, Tomomi? I don’t wanna leave you by yourself…”

“Ah, yeah, Mizushima. I’d say you could come along, but this is a guy’s thing, y’know?”

Tomomi waves off both our concerns with a quick flick of her wrist. “I can entertain myself, you know. Don’t worry about it.” Well, she does have family in Karakura. She’ll likely visit with her dad or something. Tomomi snaps her fingers, then points at Keigo. “Oh, you should take pics. Or video. I’d love to see that.”

Keigo nods, almost knocking his skull into mine. “I’ll be sure to collect as much evidence as possible!”

I grimace. “You guys…”

* * *

The afternoon sky is covered in clouds, none of them foreboding rain. It wouldn’t bee too much of an issue, since Kurosaki and Inoue are having their ceremony indoors, so I accept the reprieve from the sun. I finish checking my pockets for my wallet and the spare key to the hotel room, Tomomi rolling on her heels beside me.

“You sure you don’t wanna go?” I ask, half teasing. There’s still time until I meet up with Keigo and the others, but it’s not like Tomomi to end up with cold feet. She glimpses at me from the corner of her eye, dropping from her movement to lean against a hall on our hotel’s front side. “You’re more than welcome to come along; you know that.”

“I’ve already met your mom.” She has, and not just when she drove me to Karakura when my mom ended up in the hospital. Tomomi taps her fingers against the white wall, free of any smudges. “You two don’t get to see each other much, let alone one on one. I’ll sit this one out.” Even though I’ll be meeting with Keigo and the others right after, Tomomi seems content on leaving me be. “Besides, I get you all to myself up in Aomori. I know how to share.”

“Is that so?” The occasional hotel guest passes by, stopping in or heading out on their own ventures. There’s a light press of humidity to the air that makes staying inside air conditioning appealing, but I still prop myself against the wall besides Tomomi, our arms pressing together. “So, was all that stuff you said in front of Keigo just for show?”

Since she’s taller, it’s easy for Tomomi to peer down at me. “I think you know the answer to that.” And I do. Somehow, I wouldn’t think of doing anything besides coming back to Tomomi. Considering how much I used to sleep around, it’s an odd stage to be at. “Go enjoy being with your mom, Mizuiro, then have a blast with your pals. I’ll go for a walk and maybe grade some papers later. Stop fussing.”

I intertwine our fingers and give a quick squeeze. “Alright, alright.” Satisfied, Tomomi leans down to tap a chaste kiss on my lips. “I’ll see you when I get back, Tomomi.”

“See ya, Mizuiro.”

Tomomi joins the flow into the hotel lobby, and I make my own path down to the bus stop. Walking wouldn’t take too long, but I’m not quite ready to end up sweaty and sticky, especially since I’ll be going out, after. Karakura isn’t too bustling, even on a Saturday, and I snag a seat on the bus.

Within ten minutes I’m near the café Mom said she’d meet me at. It’s a simple set up, all in warm browns, with little round tables scattered across the room and bookshelves as the staple in the décor. I scan the room, breath stuck in my throat.

I don’t exhale until I see Mom sitting in one of the armchairs in the corner.

The funny about me and my mom is that we don’t look much alike. She keeps her hair dyed into a pale brown, and it falls in curls all the way past her shoulders. I used to have this stupid idea when I was younger that the reason she didn’t want to put up with me was because of how little I looked like her—that I reminded her of my dad or something.

But when I approach, Mom looks up and smiles, wrinkles forming at the corner of her eyes. If nothing else, that’s where we look alike: deep black eyes that almost look too big. It makes us both look younger than we are, which isn’t quite a bad thing. Mom’s dressed down from usual, but she still looks business casual in a nice blouse and skirt.

We order coffee, sit down, and just _talk_.

There’s nothing special about our conversations from an outsider’s perspective. We just chat and catch up. I tell her about how my studies are going, and she lets me know that work at the office is going well. The topics scatter around to how Tomomi is and what the weather’s like in Karakura.

It’s mundane.

Ridiculous.

But these are the types of conversations that I used to crave, that I used to batter her with telephone calls over. So even if anybody else thinks they’re pointless, I’ll still cherish every single one, every dumb topic and laugh, because they’re the proof that the connection between us is active.

“Still, one of your classmates is marrying,” Mom says, cradling her now empty cup in her lap. My own is abandoned on the table, and I uncross my legs so that they don’t go numb. “The years really do get away from you, don’t they? I can’t believe how fast you’ve all grown up.”

If I were still spiteful, I would mention that it seems strange because she missed out on several years of my life. But I never was angry at her, and I’m not now. I chuckle, and it’s not even faked. “Well, they have been together since the end of high school. I guess it was just the next logical step for them.”

My mother smiles, her perfectly applied lipstick almost shimmering as it reflects the lights. “You and Mizushima-san have been seeing each other since you started university, right? Does that mean I should be expecting news soon?” The age-old law of the universe that demands questions about your relationships are ten times more embarrassing from your parents than your friends kicks in, and I flap my mouth as my face lights up red. Mom laughs into her hand, the nails matching the russet shades of the rest of her makeup. “I’m joking, Mizuiro.”

I duck my head down like my shirt collar can hide my embarrassment. “I don’t think…I’m ready for that yet.” Not with several more years of school coming up. Not with the way Tomomi is.

Not with my own uncertainty.

“Yes, I know.” Mom closes her eyes, sinking back into the armchair. “You take things at your own pace. Though it seems like you’re impulsive at times, you always think it through before making a decision.” Considering how little time we’ve spent with each other, I’m surprised that she’s right. “Your father was like that, too.”

“He was?” My curiosity makes me abandon my pathetic impression of a turtle, and I lean forward a bit in my seat. I hesitate for a second, the chatter of the baristas at the counter filling my silence, then go for it and ask. “How did you and Dad meet?”

A sort of anxiety worms its way into me, swimming through the coffee in my stomach. If my relationship with Mom was shaky, the sort where the wire got plugged and unplugged so many times it’s a wonder we ever connected to the right sockets, then Dad is a complete mystery. I’ve never even had the experience of being in the presence of his connection.

Mom doesn’t open her eyes, just lost in thought. Though she’s taken care of herself, wrinkles have still slipped their way along her eyes and in thin lines across her forehead. Her lips curl up into a thin smile. “We were working in the same office for a time and got lunch together a lot. Even after he transferred to another company, we kept seeing each other.” It’s such a simple connection. I wonder how we managed to get our wires so tangled. Mom opens her eyes and reaches out to pat my arm. “We liked each other’s company enough to spend the rest of our lives together. It was that sort of story.”

I reach up to squeeze her hand, thin fingers still warm between mine. “It’s a nice story.”

Mom didn’t mention how the rest of their lives ended up not being very long. I decide to leave it be.

* * *

Sometimes connections seem to fragile. After all, it’s just a wire in a socket. We never have much trouble pulling a plug from an outlet. Sometimes it happens on accident, and it’s always so simple.

I think it’s more because of that fragility that I thought of relationships like cables. Not because of how they establish connection and transmit information, but because they could fall apart at any second, just from a careless flick or tug.

It’s almost disheartening to admit how pessimistic I am.

But I’m not so sure what I think of it now. Because while connections can be broken, they can also be fixed simply, too. Just plug it back in the outlet and resume. It may not always be a perfect start, but it is, without a doubt, something you can reestablish. Relationships are all those things: connections, simple to build, simple to break.

Maybe I was smarter than I gave myself credit for when I was younger.

* * *

“Hey, have you heard anything from Yuzu and Karin lately?”

“Dude, I swear, Chad just keeps getting bigger!”

“Why do you need so many types of alcohol anyway? Sake’s the way to go!”

“What do you mean you won’t be my wingman? Back me up here.”

The men’s night has progressed just as expected, and we’re all some level of tipsy at this point, if not worse. I’ve held back just to avoid giving Keigo and Tomomi any ammunition, but the pleasant buzz of alcohol still fuzzes over my brain. Kurosaki didn’t have much interest in anything too wild, so we just found ourselves a bar and settled into a corner big enough for all of us. Padded booth seats are against all the walls, and the dull lighting glints off our table full of half-drunk glasses and appetizer plates. There are a few faces I don’t recognize mixed in with my familiar high school crew, plus even a few of the Soul Reapers decided to make their appearance.

Thinking about Tomomi’s constant insistence on eating, I pop a couple bites of edamame into my mouth before going back to nursing the froth from the top of my beer. While all the talk around me is no doubt hectic, it’s a sort of scene I don’t get too much with just my small cluster of friends in Aomori. It’s a nice change of pace.

“You doing alright, Kojima?” Kurosaki wanders over from some other conversation ad plops down beside me. His orange hair takes on an extra glow against the dark colored décor.

“I’m just taking a breather, is all.” I don’t slur my words, but my tongue is starting to feel thick. I put down my beer and look out over everyone else. Keigo is even more gung ho with drink in him and is trying to drag a protesting Ishida across the bar while Abarai eggs them on. Kurosaki and I both chuckle. “If I go along with them, I might end up doing something I regret.”

“Well, I doubt anyone’s gonna remember too much of tonight anyways.” Kurosaki leans forward, plucking the remains of our tempura plate for himself. He doesn’t start eating, though, just looks at me with his wide smile. “You’ve grown a lot, y’know?”

I snort. “Just because I was always the short one…”

Kurosaki shakes his head. “No, no, that’s not what I mean. Well, it’s like, I know I’m not one to say it, since I was such a punk, but I think you’ve matured a lot.” He tries to use a stray pair of chopsticks, but his fingers keep slipping. In the end, he tosses the utensils away. “You and Mizushima seem happy. You were never like that before.”

While there are plenty of our classmates who never realized what kind of person I was, Kurosaki figured it out damn fast. He never judged me for it, though, whatever jokes he might’ve made from time to time.

I wish I hadn’t put my beer down so that I’d have something to do with my hands. “Did I really look that unhappy?” I ask. I always tried to be the chipper one. Part of me was innately optimistic, but there’s no doubt that I also faked it whenever it made things easier.

“Hm, no, that’s not quite it.” Kurosaki munches on a few stray tempura veggies, and I swipe a battered carrot for myself. “I always thought you looked happy enough with it. I mean, you were getting a place to stay and food and stuff, right?” I nod. I could’ve had those things if I had stayed with my mom, too, but it had never seemed like an option. “But I guess you just seem more satisfied, now, you know? Like you’re doing something you want, and not just ‘cause you’ve gotta.”

People don’t give Kurosaki enough credit for it, but he is smart. Maybe he’s onto something. Or maybe his thoughts are just loose from the alcohol, and it’s nonsense. I can’t say just how much what he’s saying is true for now, but his understanding of how I used to be is no doubt correct.

“Sheesh,” I say. “This night’s supposed to be about you. What are you doing playing therapist to me?” Kurosaki blinks, the lights reflecting in odd tints across his brown eyes. “I’m okay now. And I’m here to celebrate you.” I give in and go back to my beer, trying not to let my hand slip on the condensation over the glass. Kurosaki breaths out a laugh. “What’s it like? Knowing that you wanna be with someone for the rest of your life?”

Kurosaki scratches the back of his head. “That’s kind of a tricky one to answer, but…” He smiles, staring out at the rest of our friends making fools of themselves, though it doesn’t look like he’s focusing on them at all. “The more time I spent with Orihime, the more I realized that this was it. That she and I could make something great together, and I wanted to do it. And she wanted to, too, so that was it.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple at all. But it’s what I feel, so that’s what we’re doing.” Kurosaki polishes off the last of his plate and stands up, long limbs wavering for a second, but he keeps his balance. “Come on, let’s make sure Ishida doesn’t kill Asano. I’d rather not have to do any Soul Reaper junk tonight.”

And sure enough, Keigo and Ishida are bickering, their faces flushed with drunkenness. Chad has joined the observing party, though he seems to just be posing instead of doing anything useful. I down the rest of my drink and fumble with my phone, hoping to get at least some evidence that proves to Tomomi I’m at least not as bad as all that.

* * *

Being a traditional wedding, Kurosaki and Inoue have their ceremony in private, save for their immediate relations of Kurosaki’s dad and sisters. The rest of us assemble at the reception hall and applaud when they make their appearance. Inoue—Orihime’s wedding kimono is stunning, and her vibrant hair spills over the white fabric. The newlywed couple thanks us for coming, and I catch sight of Arisawa wiping her eyes on the far side of the room.

And then we all settle down for the dinner. Since I had my adventure last night, Tomomi has claimed the right to drinking. We’re not traveling back home until early tomorrow morning, so I let her tuck into her cocktails.

“You ever think about how you can take either person’s name in marriage?” she asks, already giggling from being tipsy. And it’s true enough—though Ichigo and Orihime have taken Kurosaki, it could’ve been the other way around. So long as the couple shares the same family name, the Japanese government isn’t too picky. “I think it’s great.”

Keigo grins at me from across the table, and I can even see Ishida suppressing a knowing smile. These guys. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if the girl wanted me to take her name,” Keigo says.

“Assuming you ever find a girlfriend,” I say, trying to snark the conversation in a different direction. Keigo groans. Tomomi whacks my arm, but she still snickers. With most of the Karakura gang gathered at our table, I don’t have too many other options of people to pick on. “I mean, it’s just a name, right? Does it matter much?”

“You’re being too passive,” Kuchiki says from further down the table, Abarai at her side. “It’s about deciding what part of your families to make part of your legacy. It’s not something you should just dismiss.” Considering she has some fancy family in the Soul Society backing her up, it’s not much of a surprise she thinks it’s important. “Right, Renji?”

Abarai almost chokes on his bite of food. “Well, I guess…” Watching someone who’s one of the top-ranking members of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads get flustered over a simple question is much more amusing than it should be. “It’s a bit easier for you since the Captain’s gonna take care of the Kuchiki name, right? We can just—”

“You are not to finish that sentence!”

As the two visiting Soul Reapers have a lover’s spat or whatever, Tomomi plays with her empty glass. She has an annoying amount of dexterity for someone who’s tipsy. “It’s fun to think about. I mean, imagine if we took my last name.” She snickers again, and Keigo’s bark of laughter bursts over the rest of the chatter in the hall.

“Mizushima Mizuiro—how much water do you need?” he asks, still chortling.

“Enough to cool a certain imbecile’s head as he makes a scene,” Ishida says.

Keigo wastes no time in rounding on our bespectacled friend. “Oh yeah?” Keigo flails an accusatory finger through the air. “What about you? I heard some rumor that you were going out with someone. You planning on keeping that secret from us?”

Ishida pushes up his glasses with fine precision. “I have no intentions of pursuing a relationship while I’m still working on my studies.” Considering he’s been working to be a doctor, maybe he’s the smarter one out of the two of us. “And even if I were, what I do in my personal life is none of your business.”

“Sounds like a crummy cover up to me.”

“Come on, guys,” I say without much effect. Everyone’s caught up in their own rhythms. Tomomi abandons twirling her empty glass between her fingers and hugs me from the side.

“Your friends are pretty fun, Mizuiro. Wanna come back during the summer?” Unlike her stunt outside the cab, when she drops her weight on me this time, it’s just a lack of awareness, not a seduction. Even so, she sighs as she relaxes against me. “Hm, want another drink, but you’re comfy.”

I go ahead and wrap an arm around her waist the best I can. “Shall I escort you, then?”

“You’re the best. Love you lots.” And even though she’s still laughing to herself as she stands, I let myself smile. Because not only have we built a steady connection, the wires between all my friends seem as vibrant as others, even in the places where I’m not linked.

* * *

We pack up our things and say our goodbyes, then it’s back on the trains for us. Tomomi groans a little bit as she pops some painkillers for her headache but handles the rest of her hangover with dignity. She got enough of a leave to not need to teach until tomorrow, but I have class in the afternoon to attend. We’ll be back to our busy routine before long.

“Did you have fun?” Tomomi asks, leaning back in her seat. She brought out a book, but it’s sitting closed in her lap. I nod in answer to her question, the train smoothly gliding along its tracks. “Good. The Kurosaki couple seemed happy. Good for them.”

“Yeah,” I say. Without the bustle of everyone else around me, it’s easy to be aware of all the insecurities I’ve been pushing back. And while I could lock it all up, Tomomi’s observant enough that she’ll call me out on it in time. It’s better to get it over with. I suck in a breath. “Tomomi, what do you think about us?”

“Hm?” She tilts her head and tucks a multicolored lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s not the question you really wanna ask, is it?”

I break eye contact, skimming over the rest of the train. It’s not as crowded as our Thursday ride down, but there’s a fair share of people on board. Most of them probably aren’t headed all the way up north, though. “No, it’s not.” I reach out for her hand, and Tomomi lets me take it. “Tomomi, how long do you wanna stay together?”

In some cases, two years can seem like a long time. In comparison to other couples, it’s paltry. I don’t know what counts as the right time to ask something like this, but it’s better to do it sooner than later. I mean, even when I was trying to scare Tomomi away, it never worked, so it’s silly to think this will.

“How long, how long…” she says, then hops up from her seat. Her fingers slip from mine, and I almost think I feel her cable sliding out of place—until I realize she’s grabbing her suitcase from the rack above us. She rummages around a few minutes, and, once she has something in hand, leans over me. I don’t even get a glimpse of what it is until after she’s done tying it around my neck. “I wasn’t thinking of numbers when I bought this. What do you think it adds up to?”

Tomomi sits back down and watches me reach for the weight around my neck. The cord of the necklace isn’t anything special, just thick, black material that’ll hold up against wear and tear. But the thin pendant has the shine of silver. The front side is blank, but the back end that presses against my chest has the kanji for Tomomi’s name etched onto it.

I’m flabbergasted. She seems satisfied enough with the response, and I catch sight of Tomomi lifting her pigtails, a second pendant glinting from her mouth. I pull it out by the string and return the favor, tying a knot against the back of her neck. Before I let go, I run my fingers over the grooves on the back of her pendant that form my name.

“When they heck did you even get these?” First matching outfits, now matching necklaces. She’s spoiling me.

“Saturday, while you were out.” Tomomi plays with her pendant, the smile lighting up her face with vibrant joy. “Well, are they good enough? I put some cash into these, so please stop fussing that I don’t want this.”

I grimace. She saw right through me anyways. “S

* * *

orry for doubting you.” Without meaning to, I wrap my hand around my necklace, our poses mirroring each other. Though it’s not as outright as I would’ve liked it, this is Tomomi’s declaration of intent, so I should make my own. “When I get a good job, I’ll be sure to buy you a ring, okay?”

“Mizuiro,” Tomomi says, and her expression’s gone back to that amused look I’m used to, but she’s no less happy than before, “buy me or don’t buy me whatever you want. Just stick by my side, alright?”

“I can handle that much.” And even though our exchange has gathered a few curious glances from those around us, I go ahead and kiss Tomomi anyway.I didn’t get the chance to ask Kurosaki about how his connection with Orihime looks now that they’re married, so I don’t know how their cables have grown. But maybe, I think, that sort of thing isn’t the same across the board; it varies for every relationship out there. The more intimate a relationship becomes, the more unique their connections look.

And so, regardless of how anyone else’s wires have come together, I know that Tomomi and I have added an installation that will keep ours from falling apart.

* * *

_systems active_

_communication: REINFORCED_

* * *

_Transmission Secure_


End file.
